


You Make It Feel Like Christmas

by Andelin



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Babies, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Parenthood, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 03, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andelin/pseuds/Andelin
Summary: Mac goes into labor a few days before Christmas and by the time her and Will are back home, they are so occupied with their tiny family member that they don't mind the mess or eating takeout at Christmas.
Relationships: Will McAvoy/MacKenzie McHale
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9





	You Make It Feel Like Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fluffy, little Christmas Baby Oneshot. I had to take some liberties with Mac’s due date, but so did Sorkin, so...  
> It’s my very first Newsroom story as I only found the show two months ago. Haven’t stopped watching since then and probably never will. I hope you enjoy :)

“What the  _ fudge _ do you think you are doing?” Will’s outcry is accompanied by a loud thumping sound and the swishing of tree limbs. 

If Mac wasn’t so annoyed by his crippling protectiveness of her, and the fact that he just dropped their Christmas tree, most likely snapping off some branches, she would laugh about his new favorite expletive. Ever since her 2nd trimester, when Baby McHale-McAvoy grew ears, Will has refrained from using actual swear words, instead sticking to similar-sounding, child-friendly alternatives. Five months later and Mac still isn’t used to her husband saying phrases like ‘ _ Son of a biscuit’ _ , ‘ _ Mother Father’ _ , or ‘ _ I don’t give a duck’ _ . Will uses  _ ‘fudge’ _ and  _ ‘sugar’ _ so flawlessly now, that she sometimes wonders if he had overwritten the real words in his brain for good. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Mac replies back sharply, still irritated with Will’s mishandling of the tree. This is their first real conifer in their new Westchester home and this close to Christmas, they had to drive all the way to the Massachusetts border yesterday to find one she deemed acceptable. If he destroys it now, she will get a divorce. Or make him sleep on the couch. Depending on how she feels once her raging hormones have settled down again. 

“It looks like you’re moving the couch when I specifically told you to keep your hands off it. You couldn’t have waited ten minutes for me to come back in? Does the word ‘bedrest’ mean nothing to you?” He practically huffs at her and on any other occasion, Mac would have just rolled her eyes at him and reminded him that she’s pregnant and not an invalid but the worry in his eyes makes her swallow that comment down. 

“We used to be a team,” she argues instead. “I’m done feeling useless. I just want to help.” 

“We’re still a team.” Will steps over the string of lights on the floor and zigzags his way through the boxes of Christmas decorations on his way over to his wife. Loosening her hands from the death-grip she has on the back of the couch from when she tried to pull it backward, he guides her over to one of the armchairs and helps her lower herself into it. After lifting her legs onto the ottoman, he leans into her, giving her a deep kiss. “We just share our work differently these days. You do the important work of growing and caring for our baby, while I do the unnecessary—” Mac narrows her eyes at him. “I mean the vital work of making our house look like  _ Santa’s Lair _ \- I mean  _ Workshop _ \- in less than five days,” he corrects himself. “You just sit here and executive produce.” He walks over to the kitchen, picking up the hot chocolate Mac had been making for herself when he went outside to unstrap the tree from the car roof. 

“You would have had more time if you had started in November like I told you to. Or if you would have just allowed me to do—” Mac stops and suppresses a moan, trying not to alarm Will even further. She might quarrel with him, but she knows he is right. The cramping in her stomach being proof of that.

“We discussed it and agreed that it’s more important for me to do all broadcasts leading up to Christmas so I can stay home with you the next four weeks. It’s a bit late for you to change your mind now.” He laughs. “I might be a Scrooge, but this is our last Christmas with just the two of us and I want to make it one that we will talk about for years to come.” He throws his wife a wink and then turns around to reheat her drink in the microwave. “Whipped cream or marshmallows, how would Mrs. Clause like to have her cocoa today?”

“Billy—” Mac presses out between her teeth, her whole body feeling on fire, droplets of sweat forming on her forehead. 

“Or how about sprinkles?” he suggests next, opening the overhead cupboard to look for his options. “We’ve got chocolate and rainbow.”

“Will—” Mac now groans his name, hoping it makes him turn around to her. 

“Okay, whipped cream, marshmallows, and sprinkles, it is. You drive a hard bargain.” The microwave beeps and he sprays a large amount of cream on the hot beverage. “You might want to cut back in the coming weeks or our baby will be born with a sweet tooth.” A handful of tiny marshmallows and sprinkles later, he finally makes his way back to the living room. 

“I think it’s too late for that,” Mac says as he puts the mug down in front of her and sits on the ottoman next to her feet. 

“You might be right,” Will agrees. “Leona said something about babies being able to taste at 21 weeks. It will be fine. We will try to not give her sugar early on and maybe we can wean her off the taste.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mac explains, pushing herself out of the armchair and making her way into the hallway. “There won’t be enough time for me to cut back, because the baby is coming now.” 

“What?” Will looks at Mac who is already slipping into her UGGs. When another contraction hits her, she presses both hands against the wall next to the coat rack and tries to breathe evenly. Her husband is by her side in three strides, quickly pressing his hands into her lower back, massaging her tense muscles like he learned in Lamaze class. “Are you sure? Your due date isn’t for another three weeks.”

“Do I look like I’m not sure?” She doesn’t need to turn around for him to see her face, he can vividly picture her furious eyes from where he is standing. 

“It could be Braxton-Hicks—”

“Will,” Mac interrupts him again, “if these are Braxton-Hicks, I don’t want to know what real contractions feel like. I’ve had them since this morning, but now they are getting unbearable.”

“This morning? Why the  _ fudge _ didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“The tree wasn’t up yet and the house isn’t decorated and—”

“MacKenzie, you can’t be serious. That is a  _ horseradish _ excuse! What is really going on?” 

She slowly turns around when her contraction stops and looks up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I wanted everything to be perfect for her. What does it say about me as a mom if I don’t even have the house ready for her when she comes home?” 

“Oh, Mac.” Will pulls her into a tight hug, letting her cry into his shoulder. The last few months have really taken a toll on her. 

He had just been released from prison and they hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that they lost their mentor and best friend when they found out Mac was pregnant. Being over 40, neither one had foreseen it happening naturally and therefore hadn’t taken any precautions. Unexpected hadn’t meant unwanted though and both Mac and Will have been over the moon since she got the confirmation from her doctor. Their high spirits were dampened when despite being healthy and having the body of a 25-year-old, Mac was considered high-risk and her pregnancy was closely monitored from the beginning. Mother and daughter seemed to be doing great, but Mac was violently ill for the longest time and often didn’t feel like her body or mind were her own anymore. Keeping up with her emotions has been like a rollercoaster ride for them both. 

“You do realize that all she needs to be happy is milk, a safe place to sleep, and her mother’s love, right?” Will softly caresses Mac’s hair before leaning back to press a kiss against her forehead. “She will be too little to even notice if there is a tree or not. She will be too little to even know what a tree is.” 

“The house is a mess—”

“So what? It’s good practice for when she’s a toddler and leaves her toys all over the place.”

“The nursery—”

“Mac,” Will says sternly now. “You can list another fifteen things that need to be taken care of, or we can just drive to the hospital instead. Because ready or not, she is coming. And I can’t  _ motherflecking _ wait to meet her.” 

***

Charlotte Morgan McHale-McAvoy was born on December 20, 2013, at 7:49 pm. As natural and easy as her conception was, as medical-supported and difficult was her delivery. Mac was in active labor for six hours with no real progress and when mother and daughter got into too much distress, they had to take her into the OR for a C-section, much to Mac’s dismay and Will’s concern. The hours of pain and Mac’s threat to sue the hospital for intentional infliction of emotional distress for not turning off their Christmas playlist, which had been on its seventh repeat at that point, had been long forgotten when their little girl let out her very first cry. With ten fingers, ten toes, and the tiniest speck of blonde hair, she was perfect. Her set of lungs could have come from either side of the family, but her eyes were a definite McAvoy blue. 

“You know that the color might change within the first few months?” Mac is sitting up in her hospital bed, keeping a close eye on her husband who is carrying their infant daughter through the maternity suite. His gaze hasn’t left Charlie since her little, tightly swaddled body, was placed into his arms. He can hardly make out her features, her bright red blanket and hat keeping her cozy and warm, but her piercing baby blues are locked on his and all he can see in them is his mom. 

“They could,” he agrees, “but they won’t.” 

“You sound awfully sure for a man who didn’t know that newborns only see black and white for a few months.”

“She already got your stubbornness and the McHale nose, you can at least give me this.” 

A giggle breaks out of Mac and she reaches her arms out for her daughter. Will reluctantly hands her over, fully aware that he has been hogging their little girl for the last hour. 

Mac pulls Charlotte close to her chest, cautious of her own tender stomach and the painful incision that will now adorn her body forever. She hasn’t fully come to terms yet with not having been able to deliver naturally, never liking it when there were limitations being put on her capabilities. Will, on the other hand, sees the future scar as her badge of honor. Mac gave up her body to give him the greatest Christmas gift ever and he will do his best to remind her every day anew of her beauty and sacrificial nature. And if that means he gets to continue massaging her with cocoa butter as he did for her stretch marks, then so be it. He’s a willing and eager participant. 

“How exactly have you determined that she’s got my nose?” Mac caresses Charlotte’s face with her pointer finger, letting out a delicate “Oh” when the baby starts rooting as soon as Mac touches her lips. 

“I’ve got this inexplicable desire to give it a kiss every time I see it. Just like I do with yours.” Will pulls one eyebrow up and gives his wife a cheeky grin. “It’s just,” he leans over the bed to drop a peck on Mac’s nose, “so,” a peck on Charlie’s, “kissable.” Another peck on Mac’s, followed by a slow kiss on her lips. “You are amazing, do you know that?” 

“I don’t feel amazing.” She timidly tries to bring order to her bangs that stuck to her face when she started sweating during labor. 

“Hey.” Will sits down on the bed and takes her hand in his. “Stop it. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in real life and nothing will bring me greater joy than watching our daughter grow up to look exactly like her mom.” He presses a kiss against the palm of her hand and then lifts Charlotte out of Mac’s arms, placing her into the transparent hospital bassinet next to him. 

“Straight-edged nose and all?” 

“Straight-edged nose, strong will, compassion, dedication, brains, beauty, and blue eyes.” 

“You’re stupid,” Mac says with a giggle that immediately turns into a yawn. 

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean what I said is any less true.” Will lifts the hospital blanket so Mac can scoot down into a lying position. A look at his watch confirms what he has been thinking. “It’s well after midnight and you had a long day. Try to get some sleep before Little Miss McAvoy wakes up for her feeding again.” 

Mac gets comfortable while Will turns off the overhead lights, leaving only the glow of the bedside lamp. The hospital provided them with a rollaway bed for him to stay the night but he is too wired to sleep. Instead, he pulls the rocking chair closer to the bassinet and sits down in it instead. 

“I’m sorry I’m stuck in the hospital for three days,” Mac says softly, hardly able to keep her eyes open. “You know you can go home, right? I can call you when we wake up.”

“How many drugs did they give you?” Will jokes back at her. “You seem to be delusional.” 

Mac opens her eyes just wide enough so she can roll them at her husband. 

“There is no place I’d rather be than right here with you.” 

“But what about the house?”

“I think it’s old enough to stay unsupervised for a few days.”

“You know what I mean.” 

“The house will be as uncheerful as when we left it. If you think that I will even touch an ornament without you present, you are mistaken. Because we both know however I hang them won't be exactly the way you would have instructed me to hang them, so I might as well not touch them at all.”

“That’s not true.” 

The look Will gives her clearly spells out what he thinks of her protest.  _ Really? _

“Well— I—”

“You’re a perfectionist, nothing wrong with that. I’m just not so sure Charlie really cares if her crib is three inches closer to the wall or not.” 

“You noticed that?” Despite the darkness of the room, Will sees his wife blush. She hardly ever used to, but during the pregnancy, all her emotions were heightened and she was suddenly more aware of her imperfections. Will finds her insecurity adorable. The long-lasting bruise on his arm did teach him not to admit that to her though. 

“I notice everything you do. You were nesting and it was cute.” 

He expects Mac to reach out and hit him again but when no reaction comes from his wife, a quick look over at the bed confirms that she has finally fallen asleep. Checking in on Charlotte as well, who just like her mother is peacefully sleeping, Will gets comfortable in the rocking chair and spends the rest of the night watching his girls. 

***

Two and a half days later, the little family of three gets discharged. Mac is healing nicely and Charlotte is as happy and healthy as can be, and yet, the McHale-McAvoys feel uncertain about leaving the hospital. 

“Is it normal that they are just letting us walk out like that?” Will worries on the way from the hospital room to the parking garage. “Shouldn’t they confirm with someone that we know what we are doing?” 

“This isn’t the Associated Press, Will, it’s a hospital. No witnesses, no double confirmations, you just get to be a dad. Uncertified.” 

“That can’t be legal.” He is looking left and right, seeming more nervous the closer they get to the car as if a SWAT team is about to descend on him. “I feel like an imposter.” 

“We can frame the birth certificate if that makes it more official for you,” Mac snickers. “You can hang it on your wall.” 

“You might mean it is a joke, but that’s exactly where it will go. Right above my National Headliner Awards, so I have them in order of importance.” He switches Charlotte’s car seat from his right arm to his left, so he can use his free hand to gesture at his imaginary office wall. “Will McAvoy - father, news anchor, baseball star.” 

“Having a scholarship offer to play ball at Columbia doesn’t make you a star,” Mac explains to her husband in a slightly patronizing tone. Although, the memory of seeing Will’s eyes light up when he found the formerly important piece of paper in an old box his sister found at the farm, does put a smile on her face. He put it up in his office the very next day. 

“Speaking of news,” Mac redirects the topic as Will clicks the car seat into the base and she slides into the backseat next to her newborn daughter, “I told Don and Sloan that we would stop by at their place for an early dinner and some baby cuddles.” 

Will groans but even from behind him, Mac can see his face break out into a smile. He may not admit it in front of their friends, but he was really happy to be able to share this new chapter in his life with his ACN family. The decision to make the younger couple the godparents was never discussed, it was always a given. In all the stress with the firm and the holidays, Will and Mac never got round to asking them officially, a situation they wanted to rectify on Christmas Day over dinner. With Charlotte arriving three weeks early and being here now, they thought it would be a good idea to let her ask the question instead. Her first visit with them will be as good a time as any. 

“Admit it,” Will says, starting the car and leaving the garage for the Upper West Side at the slowest _ speed _ possible, “you don’t want them over at the house because of how we left things.” 

“There is nothing to admit,” Mac argues, “I’m just not sure we’re insured for ‘injured by fallen fir’. Not falling, Will, fallen! That thing is blocking half the door.” 

“It didn’t fall, I dropped it.” 

“Well, all right, then. You explain that difference in court when Don hires Rebecca and sues us.” 

If Will wasn’t so concentrated on getting his family to their friends safely, he would have caught Mac crossing her arms in defiance. He wouldn’t be Will though if he didn’t know that she did it either way. 

“Don is not going to sue us because he tripped over our fallen Christmas tree.” 

“Dropped—”

“Mac,” Will laughs, “you are being ridiculous now.” 

“You are just scared because you know she’s the better lawyer.” 

“I think you are scared they’ll have further proof of how perfectly imperfect you are.” He reaches back, finding her knee, and places his hand on it. “They have seen us at our worst for years now, Mac, they couldn’t care less if we had Christmas decorations up or not.”

“But—” Tears are pooling in Mac’s eyes, the lack of sleep, constant feedings, and the fear of being a new mom are catching up with her. 

“But nothing. You were busy growing a human. In my eyes, that is more important than having some fairy lights strung across the fireplace.” 

Mac puts her hand on his and links their fingers. “I just wanted to give us a perfect Christmas.”

“All that’s required for a perfect Christmas is you, Charlie, and most importantly, your mom’s cheese biscuits.” 

“Sometimes, I think you married me just for my mom’s recipes.” Mac now laughs with him, wiping the spilled tears away with her free hand. 

“You might be onto something. She had this one bun in the oven about 45 years ago that I am particularly fond of. It’s my absolute favorite. Sweet even when sour, never bitter or salty, and  _ uhh, mommy _ ,” he deliberately mispronounces ‘umami’, making it sound like a come-on, all the while winking at her through the rearview mirror. 

“Will,” Mac cries out, pushing his hand away. “There are little ears present.” 

“We know our daughter is naturally going to be insanely intelligent, but you might be asking too much of a three day old if you think she can understand us.” 

“Says the man who sounds like he's  _ fudging _ baking every time he uses a  _ sugary _ curse word.” 

***

Mac’s ears are ringing from the high pitched squeal Sloan lets out the moment she sees the ‘Will you be my godparents’ onesie Charlotte is wearing. 

“Really?” Her best friend is practically bouncing in place, closed fists pressed against her mouth to keep the excitement in. It isn’t working. “I really get to be Auntie Sloan?”

“You make it sound like this comes as a huge surprise,” Will says slightly bewildered. “Who did you think we would ask?” 

“Well,” Don answers for his wife, “you both have siblings and we don’t actually have any experience with kids. We didn’t want to assume.” 

“My family lives in another country and I wouldn’t leave a plant in Will’s sisters’ care. The two of you are our family for all intents and purposes. There is honestly no one else I would entrust my child with.”

“Are you sure there isn’t a test or something we have to take? To qualify?” Don looks unsure between Mac, Will, and the car seat with his goddaughter in it. 

“You really are the Everly Brothers,” Mac exclaims annoyed, looking from Will to Don. “Just pick her up so I can take pictures for the birth announcement.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Don salutes but instead of taking Charlotte out of her seat, he pulls first Mac and then Will into a hug. Sloan follows suit. 

“You did great,” she congratulates the new parents. “She is beautiful.” 

The young couple positions themselves in front of their ostentatious Christmas tree and Will places a still sleeping Charlotte into Don’s arms. The glow on their faces and sparkle in their eyes as they pose for pictures is only rivaled by the thousands of lights Sloan has hung from every surface in the house. 

“You outdid yourself with decorations this year, Sloan.” Mac tries to not let her envy show. “We didn’t even manage to get the tree up before this one interrupted us.” 

Sloan laughs as she takes the baby out of Don’s arms and sits down on the couch. “I think that is how your next eighteen years are going to go. But who cares about decorations when you got this wonderful gift to take home? She outshines all the stars in the sky anyway. No fairy lights can rival her.”

By the time they make it back to Westchester, Mac has mulled over Sloan’s words a dozen times. 

“Billy,” she addresses her husband as he pulls into the garage, “I’m sorry.” 

Turning the ignition off, he shifts around to her, a puzzled look on his face. “Sorry for what?”

“For making such a fuss about the decorations. It was silly. They are not what’s important about this day.”

“I know that, you know that, and I know that you know that.” He gets out of the car, opens her door, and pulls her out into his arms. “This whole baby thing? It’s terrifying as  _ fudge _ . What if she screams and we don’t know why? What if there is something wrong with her and we don’t realize it or what if we accidentally hurt her? What if we are really bad parents and she hates us? What if you are at work every time she has the really stinky diapers and I am stuck with them?” His last question hits the mark and makes her giggle. “This is new and scary territory, and you were trying to hold on to what you could control, what you know you are good at. Doing this parenting thing is easier when you don’t feel like you failed in all other areas of life too. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. If someone is to blame, it’s me. I started too late even though you reminded me every day since Thanksgiving.”

“Sometimes even twice.” Mac pulls his head down for a kiss, eternally grateful for the wonderful man by her side. 

***

As much as Will wanted to give Mac the Christmas she deserved, the only thing he did manage to achieve that night was to pull the tree upright and drag it into its intended corner. Some branches looked a bit worse for wear but he turned the fir until they were hidden in the back. The rest of the night was spent on feedings, pampering his wife, and catching up on sleep. 

The next morning, the day before Christmas, didn’t leave him with much time either. With Mac back to being on bedrest, all heavy lifting was down to him. He changed every diaper and burped Charlotte after she nursed, but he at least managed to hang a garland by the fireplace and string the lights on the tree. The remaining seven boxes with decorations were still occupying almost all floor space between the living room and the front door, but they had no plans to leave the house anyway. 

In the afternoon, right around sundown, Will starts to prepare the food for the evening. For Christmas Day, they had planned to have Don and Sloan over for dinner, but today was meant to be just the two of them. Mac had gotten tired early in the last few weeks and eating late messed with her sleep, so they agreed on a mid-afternoon dinner and early bedtime so she could be fit for Christmas Day. Everything was different now and all their previous plans needed to be overhauled. Their ACN family will still come to spend the day with them tomorrow but with Charlotte’s irregular demands, their meals will happen whenever there is a free moment for him to cook.

Saving the turkey for the meal with their friends, he chose a simpler option of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and parsnips for the day. The meat in the oven and the vegetables simmering on the stove, Will joins his girls in the living room. 

“I expected I would need to pull you away from the decorations and yet here you are, right where I left you.” Will leans over the couch, pressing a kiss on the top of his wife’s head. 

“I wouldn’t move even if I could,” Mac explains, her voice suspiciously close to resembling baby talk despite the fact she is speaking to her husband. 

“And why is that?” He moves the ottoman over to the couch, sitting down on it and following her line of sight. His eyes find his newborn daughter, lying on the wide sofa seat, surrounded by Mac’s pregnancy pillow. His wife is just staring at her with a wide smile on her face while Charlotte has a tight grip on Mac’s pointer fingers. 

“I can’t stop looking at her. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in your life?” 

Will wants to give the off-hand remark, ‘Yes, every time I look at you,’ but when he actually takes in the picture before him, Mac in yoga pants and a washed-out Columbia sweatshirt, her hair up in a messy bun, his infant daughter in her Christmas-themed onesie, happily sucking on her pacifier, he realizes that no, he has never seen anything as beautiful as this. 

“Do you know how happy you two make me?” Will gently runs a finger over Charlie’s closed fist, placing his other hand on top of Mac’s. 

“As happy as grilling a Tea Party Leader on your birthday on Saint Lucia with a can of Diet Coke in your hand would make you?” She winks at him. 

Will chuckles and gives her hand a squeeze. “While this peculiar fantasy of yours does sound fun, it doesn’t even move the scale when compared to being here with you. No work, no distractions, just you, our daughter, the half-finished tree, and some Christmas tunes playing in the background.” 

“Who is peculiar now? There isn’t even any music playing.” Mac scoots away from her husband, carefully pulls her fingers out of Charlotte’s grip, and slowly gets up from the couch. 

“Do you hear that, Charlie?” Will picks up the baby and starts a conversation with her lying against his shoulder. “Here I am, trying to be romantic and your mommy makes fun of me. What can we do to show her that I am serious?”

Mac has her back to Will, turning on the lights on the tree, so she doesn’t notice him walking over to the record player or him setting down the needle on the vinyl they had last listened to. As soon as the first notes fill the room, Mac turns around to her husband and he sees the tears glistening in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling. 

“Hey,” he rushes over to her, pulling her into a hug, mindful of the infant between them, “what’s wrong?”

Mac sniffles for a short moment before pulling his face down for a kiss. “I just never thought I could be this happy, too.” 

Will snickers and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s no reason to cry.” 

“It’s not me!” The tears fall heavier now. “It’s these baby hormones.” Mac chuckles despite her watery eyes and Will just pulls her closer into his body. He knows she can’t, and shouldn’t, be on her feet for very long, but right now, he wants to dance with his wife. Putting her arms around his neck, he sways them back and forth, both looking down at their daughter, secure and half-asleep in her father’s arms. 

“Merry Christmas, Baby,” Will starts to sing along to the classic R&B tune, “Sure did treat me nice. Got me a baby girl for Christmas, I feel like I'm in paradise.” 

“Those are not the lyrics.” Mac chuckles. 

“I like mine better.” 

Mac smiles and snuggles closer into her husband, they share another kiss and continue swaying until the sun has fully set and the string lights on the tree are the only thing illuminating the room. 

Their peaceful moment only lasts another two minutes because as soon as the song ends and the room is filled with silence, Charlie wakes from her slumber and demands her mother’s breast. 

“I’ll feed while you check on dinner?” Mac suggests, taking the baby out of his arms. 

Will loves nothing more than watching his wife feed their daughter and he is hellbent on not missing it. While Mac is trying to find the most comfortable position and making Charlotte latch on, Will rushes to the kitchen. 

Deciding that the meatloaf only needs another ten minutes and that the vegetables can sit in the hot water for a moment longer, he turns down the heat on the stove and oven and gets Mac a glass of water. With a satisfied and downright silly grin, he joins his family on the couch again. 

“This is so incredible.” Will looks at his wife in awe. 

“It doesn’t feel incredible.” She laughs in reply. “More like thousands of pins and needles are stabbing into me. You know, like when your leg falls asleep.” 

“But the way you can bond with her…”

“There is nothing like it, Billy. I love every second of it. And I’m sure it will get easier.” She smiles down at her daughter, mirroring Will’s look of wonder. 

“I wish I could build this kind of connection with her.” Will pulls Mac out of her thoughts. 

“The nurse said that you changing her diaper and skin to skin contact have almost the same effect. Charlie knows you, she knows your voice, and she loves you already, Billy, I can tell. Me on the other hand, I’m no more than a milk cow to her.” Mac laughs, her eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“But you are definitely her favorite milk cow.” He leans over to give Mac a smile and a kiss and then gets up to turn some instrumental Christmas music on again. 

“Isn’t that your mom’s favorite song?” Mac asks when the sounds of a saxophone saturates the room. 

“Yes, it is. Christmas was always our favorite time of the year. It lost it’s magic when dad put her in the hospital on December 23 when I was eight. Afterward, I faked cheer to not disappoint her but it made me miserable.” 

“Is that why you never came to the office parties? Because you didn’t want to pretend in front of everyone?”

“Yes. But also because watching you light up the room in your skintight dresses and not being able to kiss you under the mistletoe was another kind of torture I didn’t need. I begged Neal not to hang them, just so I could come see you and not be tempted at the same time.” 

“Are you saying that you can resist me but when I’m in the same room as a mistletoe, all bets are off? Is this some weird kink we need to talk about?” Mac is laughing so hard that her whole body is shaking and Charlotte loses her suction. Before she can start wailing, Mac switches her to the other breast and the baby starts drinking again.

“That is not what I meant.” Will stomps into the hallway to get away from his wife’s mischievous grin and to get a box of decorations. 

“But it is what you said,” Mac yells after him. 

“It’s a tradition and it would have been bad luck not to kiss you. And the last thing we needed was more bad relationship luck.” 

“You know that you could have just kissed me, right? It might have turned our luck around,” she argues when he returns with stockings and holiday cushion covers in his hand. 

“But then, I never would have stopped…” He presses a kiss to her lips. And another one. And another one. 

“And that’s a problem, why?” 

“Because it would mean we wouldn’t have gotten together when we did, wouldn’t have started renovations on the apartment, and wouldn’t have had to live with no electricity for a night, and then we wouldn’t have Charlotte. We might have other babies, but they wouldn’t be her.” Will gives her a challenging look. “Is that reason enough?”

“Wow,” Mac looks at her husband with her mouth wide open, “you can really lawyer your way out of anything.” 

“Isn’t that why you love me?”

“No, I love you despite that.” She tilts her head to the side, purses her lips, and gives him her patented ‘You really think you can win an argument with me?’ look. 

Finishing nursing, she burps Charlotte while Will hangs the stockings on the fireplace. 

“Time for you to bond with your daughter by changing her diaper. She stinks.” 

Will takes the baby from her and peppers kisses all over her face and her clothed belly. Pausing for a second, he sniffs her and then gives Mac a curious look. “I’m not sure what you smell, but it’s not her.” 

“Don’t be silly. It’s reek—” Before Mac can finish her sentence, she gets interrupted by the loud blaring of the smoke detector. 

“ _ Sugar _ ! The meatloaf!” Will hands Charlotte over again and runs into the kitchen where smoke and a pungent odor welcome him. “Mac, take Charlie upstairs, I don’t want her anywhere near this.”

Silencing the alarm and then opening a window, Will moves the pots from the cooktop only to see them glowing back at him in bright red. A quick look at the electronic display confirms his suspicion. Instead of turning the heat down, he dialed it all the way up. The potatoes are mush, the parsnip is on its way there, and, once he manages to see through the smoke, Will can confirm that the meatloaf is charcoal. “ _ Mother Father! _ ” He dumps the baking tray into the sink and opens the rest of the windows. “ _ Fudging horseradish! _ ” 

“Will?” He feels a pair of hands encircling his middle from behind him, and a head leaning against his shoulder blades. “It’s just dinner.” 

Turning around in Mac’s embrace, he pulls her closer into a hug. “Please go back upstairs. I don’t want you to breathe in the fumes.” 

“You’ve seen me cook. My body probably already thinks smoke is part of the whole experience.” 

“Charlotte?”

“She’s in her bed, sleeping.” 

“Maybe we should follow suit. Cancel this whole Christmas Eve business.” He gesticulates around their kitchen. “We’ve got no dinner, no decorations, not even the tree is done. Let’s just go to bed and sleep until morning. Maybe by then, some elves will have visited and turned our house around.” 

With an eye roll, Mac drags him out of the room and up the stairs. “I know for sure there won’t be elves and we won’t be able to get a full night’s sleep for the next eighteen years, but maybe you are right. We should lie down.” 

“Mac, I was joking. It’s not even 5 PM.”

“I know you were, but I’m not. What did my mom say? ‘When the baby sleeps, you sleep.’”

Pulling the comforter down, Mac climbs into bed and taps on the empty mattress next to her. Will joins her a bit more eagerly than he expected from himself. 

“The lights are still on, the music—”

“Shush!” Mac stops him. “It’s just for an hour.” 

Charlotte’s night light brightens the room just enough that Will can make out the form of his wife next to him. Scooting closer to her, he pulls her into his arms. His head finds its place next to hers on her pillow and within seconds, Will and Mac are both fast asleep. 

***

In the end, they got almost two hours of sleep. Mac wouldn’t say that she woke feeling refreshed, but she feels less exhausted and keen to make the most of their evening. 

Tending to the baby, she gives Will the chance to shower and get changed. A quick call to their favorite Chinese place takes care of dinner and while the house is freezing now, there is no lingering smell when she closes the windows. 

Mac switches the record and turns up the volume so they can hear the music in the kitchen. Charlotte is in her carrycot on the counter while Mac cleans up the mess from their burned meal. It doesn’t take long for Will to find them and to order them back into the living room. 

Building a small nest below the tree for Charlie to lie in, Mac takes a few pictures of their baby girl blinking up into the twinkling lights. She sends them round to her friends and family, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. 

Less than thirty minutes later, their Chinese order arrives, and Mac and Will make themselves comfortable on the floor, eating their Christmas Eve dinner with plastic forks out of oyster pails. 

“This isn’t quite the Christmas I promised you,” Will remarks a few minutes into their meal. 

“That’s true.” Mac looks first at their daughter, sitting in her newborn bouncer in front of them, and then at her husband. “It’s so much better.” 

“Even though the house is a mess, we still don’t have any ornaments up, and we’re having takeout like it’s a random Tuesday?”

“I realized that my daughter will only care about me being a good mom, not a good interior designer.” 

“You can be both,” Will reassures her. 

“I know. But she’s only this small once. Next thing we know, she will start school, go on dates, and move out. I want to enjoy it while I can.” Will’s face falls and Mac nudges him in the shoulder. “It won’t be for another few years. She’s only four days old. We’ve got time.” 

“Maybe next year, she can help you trim the tree?” 

“I’m more scared of her trying to pull herself up on it, to be honest.” Mac laughs but it’s cautious and filled with worry. “By this time next year, she will be able to crawl and maybe even walk. We might have to make ‘No Decorations Christmas’ a tradition until she can be trusted around fragile items. I don’t want her to get hurt.” 

“She will be fine,” Will blows off her concerns. 

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re her mom and you will never let anything happen to her.” 

“Now you’re being mushy again,” Mac jokes but leans her head against his in appreciation and love anyway. 

“How about I make some hot chocolate while you choose a movie for us to watch?” 

“With whipped cream and marshmallows?” Mac asks excitedly. 

“And sprinkles,” Will adds on his way to the kitchen. 

While he is busy preparing their cocoa, Mac sifts through their movie options. 

“ _ Home Alone _ ?” Mac yells a suggestion towards the kitchen. 

“I was leaning more towards  _ White Christmas _ .” Will props himself up against the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room and smirks at Mac’s flabbergasted face. 

“Charlotte’s first movie is not going to be a musical.”

“ _ Holiday Inn _ ?”

“What did I just say? And that’s not even a Christmas movie.”

“It’s the ultimate Christmas movie.” He thinks for a moment before uttering his next suggestion. “ _ Meet Me In St. Louis _ ?”

“Now we are just going backward, Will.” Mac huffs at her husband’s bizarre ideas. “And there is no way you can win this argument. Law degree or no lawyer degree.”

With a pouty face, he vanishes into the kitchen again, returning a few minutes later with two steaming cups of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream, marshmallows, and sprinkles - chocolate for him, rainbow for her. 

“What did you decide on?” he asks when he sees the _ New Line Cinema  _ logo on the screen. 

“Maggie just texted me a picture of her and Jim ice skating at Sculpture Garden and it might have influenced my decision.”

“So,” Will’s eyes light up, “ _ The Ice Follies of 1939 _ ?” He sits down in the chaise end corner of the couch, Mac in between his legs and Charlie back in her carrycot next to them. 

“Not quite. I went with the more baby-friendly  _ Elf _ .” 

“I thought we established that she has no idea what’s going on around her,” Will declares. 

“But I do. And I might be okay with the state of the house and Chinese dinner, but I still want to make it feel Christmas-y for us.” 

“Mac, it already feels like that to me. You make it feel like Christmas.” 

She snuggles closer into him, taking a long sip of her drink. “You make it feel like Christmas, too.” 

Will turns her slightly to give her a kiss but is momentarily distracted by the large blob of whipped cream on her nose that she may or may not have left there intentionally. Instead of kissing her lips, he gives her a kiss on the nose. Her perfect straight-edged McHale nose, as he called it before. He runs a finger over Charlie’s and then they turn their attention to the movie. 

With hot chocolates in their hands, lights glowing on the tree, and their newborn daughter asleep next to them, Mac and Will celebrate their first Christmas as a family of three. One they will talk about for years to come. 


End file.
